A Long and Weary March
by JennyJoy4
Summary: This is really based off of the book A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett, not so much off of the movie. What would have happened if Mr. Carrisford hadn't found Sara? Updated!
1. Henry Eshton

It was December 30, and London was frigid. The smoke and fog of the city sat heavy and cold over Miss Minchin's seminary. The unforgiving weather made everyone cross, and Sara Crewe had been scolded since the moment she had gotten up that morning. The fires weren't warm enough, she hadn't blacked the shoes well enough, and she almost cut off her finger slicing carrots. Usually she didn't work in the kitchens all day anymore, but as it was the Christmas holidays, she couldn't retreat to the schoolroom to teach the younger children as she usually would. This didn't allow her a break, however; there was work to be done, so she must do it. Just now, she was filling a bucket in order to scrub the area steps: a job she was not looking forward to doing in the bitter wind.  
I've been slaving at this school for seven years, now, Sara thought to herself as she picked up the brush, and I still haven't advanced beyond scrubbing on my hands and knees.  
When she opened the door, the cold hit her like a blow. With her head down against a cruel wind, she set down the bucket and began scrubbing the steps.  
The cold water bit into her hands. There was snow on the steps. It wasn't snowing now, though; it was too cold. Sarah felt her hands would ice over at any moment. She began to shiver as she scrubbed, her wet hands turned from a raw red to a forbidding purple. The cold was almost unbearable, but she couldn't stop scrubbing, not for a moment; she had to get the job done. Her hands went achingly numb. The absolute hopelessness of it all caved in on her. And Sara Crewe, the princess who never cried, felt big hot tears course down her cheeks and turn cold before they reached her lips.  
"Are you alright?" a voice asked from above, and Sara's head snapped up. A young man was leaning over the are railing, looking down at her. He was good-looking, with tousled brown hair and warm hazel eyes, just now looking rather concerned. Sara thought she recognized him from the neighborhood; he was visiting a man across the street. He was warmly dressed in a long coat, and Sarah couldn't help glancing enviously at his gloves for a moment. He didn't look rich, exactly, but he wasn't poor.  
Like I am, Sara thought wretchedly. Usually, she would never allow such a thought to enter her mind, but she was too miserable to care today.  
Her pride still held, though. "I'm fine, thank you," she answered, ducking her head again and wiping her cheeks with her shoulders as she turned back to her task.  
"Then why are you crying?" he asked gently.  
She looked up at him again. The look on his face was one of genuine concern; she hadn't seen such an expression in the eyes of a stranger for some time, and her proud, frozen heard melted a bit.  
"My hands are just so cold," she told him helplessly. "I can't feel my fingers, and I just felt that I couldn't bear it any longer."  
"Come up here," he said. Sara hesitated, but the young man teased, "I don't bite."  
Sara managed a small smile and climbed up the steps to him. He pulled off his gloves and stuck them in his pockets. Taking her hands in his, he began gently chafing them. Sara glanced around. What if someone should see them? Somehow, it didn't seem quite proper, being so close to a total stranger.  
The young man must have seen her expression, because he gave a little laugh. "Here we're shaking hands, and we haven't been introduced, he said. "My name's Henry Eshton."  
"Sara Crewe," Sara replied. Her hands felt warmer already.  
"Do you work here?" he asked, nodding toward the seminary.  
"Yes," Sara replied resignedly.  
"They surely don't pay you good wages," he said, glancing at her strange-looking, worn-out and ill-fitting clothes. Sara dropped her eyes. "Oh, forgive me!" he exclaimed, still holding her hands. "That was terribly put. It's just—you seem too genteel to be scrubbing steps."  
"It's alright," Sara said. "Actually, they don't pay me at all. I'm working off a debt."  
Henry looked puzzled, but forbore to pry. "Is that better?"  
"Yes, my fingers are much warmer now," Sara answered gratefully.  
"Here," he said, pulling out his gloves. "If you go back to scrubbing those steps your fingers will freeze again. Put these on."  
"Oh, no. It's very generous of you, but I couldn't."  
"Actually, it's not generous at all; I have more pairs at home," Henry replied, pressing the gloves into her hands. "I'm just afraid they'll be a bit large for you hands." He let go of the gloves and stepped away so that Sara was forced to hold them. She felt she should be angry at him, her pride should be wounded, but somehow it wasn't. Before she could say another word, Henry tipped his hat to her. "Good day, Miss Crewe," he said cordially and walked away.  
Sara stared after him, a great mix of emotions churning in her chest. She shook her head in bewilderment as he was lost in London's yellow smog. Then she looked down at the handsome gloves in her hand. With a little laugh, she put them on and took up her scrub brush again. 


	2. Laws, Miss!

Henry kept creeping into Sara's mind the next morning. His face was before her as she climbed the stairs to her "cell". Cook had decided to send her to the market, and she had to change her clothes.  
It doesn't' really matter what I wear, she had often thought. I look equally shabby in all my terrible clothes. Slipping her coat on, her glance fell on Henry's gloves. She imagined him holding her hands, giving her his gloves without any condescension, his complete candor in speaking of her wages... And she couldn't help mentally adding, And he's a handsome boy, as well.  
She was shocked at herself. Mr. Eshton is a well-off charitably- minded gentleman, she told herself emphatically. You're a silly goose. Put him out of your mind.  
The weather wasn't quite as cold as it had been the day before. On returning, the baskets were very heavy, but not as heavy as they had been for her when she first began working for Miss Minchin.  
It had been too many years. She was glad that her position hadn't completely broken her. She certainly hadn't caused Miss Minchin any trouble since Lavinia had left the seminary, soon after that infamous incident with Ermengarde's hamper. But she still pretended she was a princess, so Miss Minchin (or the Gorgon, as Sarah sometimes thought of her) had not completely turned her heart to stone yet. She still held up her head in the passage and told a wide-eyed Becky tales of queens and rajahs and the prisoners in the Bastille.  
A footstep close beside her broke her reverie. "Good morning, Miss Crewe," Henry said politely, with a sparkle in his eyes. "How do you do this cold December day?"  
Sara laughed. "Well, thank you. And yourself?"  
"In the bloom of health," Henry answered. "May I carry your baskets?"  
Sara almost caviled, but the mischievous part of her brain thought, Well, why not. Any gentleman would offer to carry a lady's packages. So she handed him the baskets with a genteel, "Thank you."  
"I would give you back your gloves, Mr. Eshton, but I'm afraid they're a very sorry sight after having been in the soapy bucket."  
"Oh, you mustn't be so ungracious as to return a gift," Henry said with a teasing smile.  
"Didn't anyone notice they were gone?"  
Henry shook his head. "My uncle isn't nearly so observant."  
"Your uncle?"  
"Yes, I'm staying with him. John Carrisford."  
"Carrisford."  
"Do you know him?"  
"No. But I feel sure I've heard his name before."  
"He just returned from France he was there for several years."  
"Oh, France! Were you there, as well?"  
"No, I've only just come to visit him. Have you ever been to France?"  
"Oui, Monsieur. My mother was French."  
"Was? Did she pass away?"  
"Yes. I never knew her; my father taught me French." Henry looked like he was going to ask about her father. "He died when I was eleven."  
"I'm sorry."  
"It's alright; it was a long time ago," she lied.  
"You're not that old."  
Sarah smiled. "If you want to know, I'm eighteen."  
"Oh, I would never have asked," Henry said, acting shocked. "I'm twenty-two."  
Sara noticed reluctantly that they were outside the seminary already. She took back the baskets. Henry tipped his hat again. "Happy New Year!"  
"Happy New Year," she answered, and disappeared down the area steps to the kitchen.  
Cook was taking a map when Sara stepped in the door. Becky helped her unpack the baskets. Sara realized after a minute that Becky was looking at her strangely.  
"What is it?"  
"Oh laws, Miss, you're always so solemn-lookin'. An' now, why, your face is just shinin'!" 


	3. Seven Years

Disclaimer: Sara et al belong to Francis Hodgeson Burnett, only Henry is mine. Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! I meant to stretch this part of the story out a bit, but it's not happening, so the whole thing will be shorter than I originally intended. Bear with me on anything that seems highly unlikely. :) Suspension of disbelief is critical!  
  
Three days later, Miss Minchin actually sent Sara to the shops rather than to the market. As much as Sara hated going to the market, she hated going to the shops even more. Her strange-looking clothes made her stand out worse than ever in the better-dressed company, and she had to hold her head up and tell herself, "Marie Antoinette would never lower her eyes just because she had only a plain black dress to wear."  
But this time, she met with Henry on the way, and he accompanied her on her errands. Sara felt more conspicuous than ever; she was sure that the people around her were wondering what Henry with doing talking with such a strange and poor-looking girl. But she used the opportunity to pretend harder than ever that she was royalty in disguise, and that kept her cheerful.  
Henry kept the conversation light until they were out of the more populated area. He carried her baskets again.  
"Aren't these often too heavy for you?" he asked.  
"I'm becoming used to them."  
"How long have you worked for the seminary?"  
"Seven?!" he exclaimed. "Sure it doesn't take seven years to work off a debt."  
"But it has," Sara said, resignedly. "You see, my father was very rich—or at least, he thought he was. He lost all his money on an investment, and then he died suddenly. And there wasn't any way to pay for everything that Miss Minchin had bought me at his request. So when he died, I owed the seminary more than two hundred and seventy pounds." She was surprised at herself. Why had she poured out her whole sordid life story to a stranger?  
But Henry didn't look irritated or pitying. He looked angry. "Slaving for seven years for two hundred and seventy pounds? That can't be right. You're surely worked it off by now, and more."  
Sara shook her head. "No. And besides, if I demanded a salary, I'd be thrown out in the street. Miss Minchin has threatened it before, and she has no extra money to be paying me a salary."  
"And you can't leave for a better employer?"  
"Where would I go? Few households would be better than the seminary to a skivvy."  
"But you seem very well-educated. Couldn't you go out as a governess?"  
"And what household would have me, looking like this? How would I find a position?"  
Henry looked troubled. "If the story got around..."  
"—I'd land on the street in less than an hour."  
Henry shook his head. "There must be some way out of your difficulties, if only we could find it."  
Sara could think of one, but she wasn't about to dwell on it.  
At the top of the area steps to the seminary, Henry handed her her baskets back. Sara smiled up at him. He smiled back; there was no condescension in his expression, only pleasure at having met with her. His hazel eyes sparkled. Sara felt something jump in her throat, and a lovely warm feeling spread over her that had nothing to do with the weather. "Good day, Miss Crewe," Henry said, tipping his hat, and walked away.  
  
Sara met up with Henry many times over the next week. He always greeted her with a tip of his hat and a polite, "Good morning, Miss Crewe." Sara saw him so often on her way back from errands that she almost suspected him of watching the seminary day and night. Although she told fantastic stories and lived half in a fantasy world, Sara was no second- rate thinker. Her head was in the clouds, but her feet were firmly on the ground. And yet, she decided, against all odds, she had fallen in love in a single week. And if she were right, Henry wasn't indifferent toward her, either. She looked forward immensely to her "chance" meetings with him. She began to forget her own poor appearance when he accompanied her to the shops. But the situation was to change abruptly. 


	4. What She Heard in the Kitchen

To everyone who has reviewed: Thank you so much! I get warm fuzzies checking my email every day and seeing more reviews! E.K.: As per your request, I've put an extra space between paragraphs. Hope it helps! Bobby M: Yes, I probably accidentally picked those details up from the 1986 Focus on the Family movie of this, which I love. I forget sometimes which details are from that movie and which are from the book. Disclaimer: A Little Princess belongs to F. H. Burnett, but Henry Eshton is MINE! ALL MINE! Mwa ha ha haaaaaa!  
  
There was one aspect of being a servant that Sara found very interesting, and that was how the other servants always seemed to know everything about the households in the neighborhood. It was as if they had a secret society—in a way, they did. While servants worked, they gossiped, and Sara filled her imagination with the proceedings of her neighbors' lives. It was petty, and she felt that, but she was interested nonetheless.  
  
"Have you seen Mr. Carrisford's young nephew, Mr. Eshton?" Henrietta said to Cook. Sara's ear perked up.  
  
"Oh, yes. So handsome! And rich, as well."  
  
"Really? He doesn't look that rich to me."  
  
"He doesn't dress to his wealth," Cook said confidently. "He's make quite a catch for the social climbers."  
  
"I heard he's been seen in the city with a girl lately," Henrietta said slyly. "They say she's dead common."  
  
"He'll ruin his reputation if he isn't careful." Cook shook her head.  
  
"He'll ruin her reputation, too," Henrietta added. "I wonder who she is?"  
  
Sara felt her stomach drop.  
  
"Are you alright, Miss?" Becky said. "You're white as a sheet!"  
  
Sara caught a moment by herself in her cell that evening. She sat down on the red footstool and laid her head down on her knees.  
  
She hadn't even thought of Henry's reputation. And she hadn't realized he was more than moderately wealthy. By continuing to see him, she would ruin both their reputations. Her pride couldn't take the shame. But more than that, her love for Henry couldn't take the disgrace she was bringing to him. He would have to stop seeing Henry. It was break her heart, but there it was.  
  
The storyteller in her wanted to tell her this was romantic, but the princess in her just shook her head sadly.  
  
When she woke up the next morning, the light seemed more dismal than usual. She couldn't remember for a moment why—and then it all crashed in on her. She had to stop seeing Henry—Mr. Eshton, she told herself. She stood up and the room tilted crazily so that she had to quickly sit down on her bed again. As she waited for her head to stop spinning, she realized that the room seemed colder today. She shivered. The movement gave her a twinge in her chest, and she began to cough.  
  
It never rains but it pours, she thought lugubriously. I've caught something.  
  
That wouldn't get her out of work, though. She trudged down the stairs to the kitchen and was immediately assigned the task of cleaning out the grates in the bedrooms, a job Sara hated.  
  
At least they didn't send me to the shops, she thought gratefully. I couldn't bear to see H—Mr. Eshton—today. 


	5. Bonny Prince Henry

Sorry for how short the chapter is! I've got a bit of a problem getting this one onto paper. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I could use any suggestions; some of this plot is getting repetitious. I do have a couple of tricks left up my sleeve, tho... :)  
  
A Little Princess belongs to Frances Hodgson Burnett. Henry Eshton belongs to me!  
  
Sara's day was taken up with the preparation for the pupil's return. Grates were cleaned out, rooms swept, coal buckets carried up the stairs. Unfortunately, physical labor still left Sara's mind free to wander, and it incessantly wandered back to Hen—Mr. Eshton. It was a relief when she and Becky were assigned to make the beds, because they could talk while they worked.  
  
Since no one could overhear them, the pupils remaining at the seminary having gone down to the schoolroom to play games, Sara and Becky allowed themselves a make-believe.  
  
"We are English nobility in disguise," she told Becky in low tones. "The rightful heir to the throne has been exiled by a usurper. We are loyal to the true king, so we had to escape to France."  
  
"Then why are we making beds, Miss?" Becky asked as they smartly snapped a sheet in the air.  
  
"We have taken positions in the king of France's household," Sara explained. "When the rightful heir gathers his forces to regain his throne, we will rejoin him."  
  
"Ow, what's his name, Miss? The rightful heir?" She said the word with an H.  
  
"Prince Henry," Sara said before she could stop herself. She paused, her voice stuck in her throat. Becky was bent over, tucking in a sheet, and didn't see the crimson blush that rushed to Sara's cheeks. She composed herself before Becky would notice her discomfiture. She swallowed hard. "Bonny Prince Henry!"  
  
Becky giggled girlishly, despite her 25 years. "Not Bonny Prince Geoffrey?"  
  
"Why Geoffrey?"  
  
"Oh, no reason." This time, it was Becky who blushed.  
  
"Lady Rebecca, I have news from Scotland!" Sara whispered dramatically. Becky looked up, expectant. "Bonny Prince Henry's forces are gathering at Edinburgh. Sir Geoffrey, his stalwart general, says they will be ready for battle in less than a month!"  
  
"A month!" Becky exclaimed.  
  
"Shh, not so loud," Sara warned her. "If the other maids hear us speaking in English, we will be discovered!"  
  
"So we speak French, then?" Becky asked her in a stage whisper.  
  
"Yes, the most beautiful French you've ever heard! In fact, we have to take care to speak it LESS perfectly than we do, or the French would never believe we were maids!"  
  
"Ban-jur, Mad-mo-zel," Becky said, imitating Miss Minchin's own French accent.  
  
Sara giggled. "Perfect," she whispered. Her giggled turned into a cough.  
  
"Are you alright, Miss?" Becky asked, concerned.  
  
Sara cleared her throat. "Oui, merci," she said, unfolding a pillowcase. "I'm fine."  
  
It couldn't last forever. In less than an hour, Sara was sent to the market.  
  
There was no way for her to brace herself, so she just walked quickly head down, and tried not to think about what she had to do. And sure enough, on the walk home Henry met her.  
  
His eyes were bright; his face glowed with happiness. "Good afternoon, Miss Crewe. May I speak to you a moment?"  
  
"Of course," Sara answered automatically. All she was thinking was, How can I tell him? How can I tell him?  
  
Henry took her elbow and pulled her off into the relative privacy by a front stoop. He took her baskets from her and set them down on the pavement, then took both of her hands.  
  
How can I tell him?  
  
"Miss Crewe... Sara." She looked up at his joyful face, his dear, wonderful face. "Will you marry me?"  
  
The world entirely failed to end.  
  
Sara straightened her back and looked in his eyes. "Mr. Eshton, I've decided we should stop seeing each other." 


	6. Rejection and Return

Okay, I think this one's a little longer than a few of the more recent chapters. I've also finally learned to use the preview option to put in italics for thought, which will be a big help. Now if only I could figure out how to put in breaks between the paragraphs... I just finished reading a book called The Rosary, and it's given me a good idea of how to develop the love story. I've already started the next chapter, so it _is_ coming! I'll be in Indiana next week, so I'll have plenty of time to write, let's just hope I have motivation to match! I love reading everyone's reviews; it helps clarify the elements that I'm not bringing out enough. I tried to put a little bit more description in this one, as per the reviewers' request. Enjoy!

* * *

The look that registered on Henry's face was one of amused incredulity. "What?"  
  
"We shouldn't see each other anymore."  
  
It dawned on Henry that she was serious. "What—why?"  
  
"It does not befit your station to be seen with me," Sara said, her head held high, regally. "Good day, Mr. Eshton." She turned to leave.  
  
"Sara—stop." Henry caught her arm. "What do you mean by 'my station'? What does that matter?"  
  
"People are beginning to comment about a gentleman who has been seen with a skivvy." The proud chin did not lower. If she was a skivvy, she would accept it with dignity and not lower her eyes at the word.  
  
"But, you're not..." Dismay was written in his eyes, and confusion.  
  
"I am, Mr. Eshton. I am a captain's daughter, and a skivvy, and not an appropriate person for a well-bred, wealthy young man to be embarking on a close acquaintance with."  
  
Sara felt distanced from her body. As though through another's eyes, she had seen her dear, foolish boy's expression fall from elation to dismayed disbelief. _How he must love that girl_, she thought, _for his eyes to grow so dark. And she must love him too, for her to stand and watch his face when she should be leaving. Oh, but she wants to finish it—look, she is going to speak. Very eloquently for a skivvy, I might add.  
_  
"If you care anything for your reputation or mine, Mr. Eshton, you will forget me. We should not meet anymore." She wanted to say, I'm sorry; she wanted to say, I love you; she wanted to say, no, I was wrong, yes, I will marry you, but all she said was, "Good day, Mr. Eshton."  
  
To have turned back and taken one last look at his face would have been cowardice, and a princess did not show cowardice. Marie Antoinette, with white hair and a plain black dress would not have looking longingly back at the palace as she was led to the guillotine. Nor did Sara Crewe. But if she had looked back at Henry Eshton that day, she would have seen how little he cared for "his station".  
  
At noon the next day, Sara was chopping carrots in the kitchen. Becky kept casting furtive glances at her. Ever since Sara had returned from the shops the day before, she had hardly said a word to anyone. Becky wondered if she were coming down with something. She had been coughing lately, and her face was paler than usual.  
  
From abovestairs came the sound of cheerful greetings, shouts from cab and much banging and dragging of trunks. The pupils were returning for the Easter term.  
  
There was a sudden clatter of shoes on the kitchen stairs, and a lively girl of fifteen burst into the kitchen, her beautiful gold curls bouncing around her lovely face. She was dressed in a dark blue velvet riding coat, and she looked decidedly out of place in the kitchen.  
  
"Bonjour, Mamá!" she cried, and threw her arms around Sara, dirty pinny and all.  
  
Sara's eyes lit up. "Lottie!" She hugged the younger girl. "How was your Christmas?"  
  
"Oh, it was lovely," Lottie said. "How was yours?"  
  
"Perfectly beautiful, thanks to your present and my letter from Ermengarde."  
  
"Oh, did she write you? What did she say?" Lottie's blue eyes sparkled.  
  
"Her aunt is treating her to a London season," Sara said happily.  
  
"Oh, imagine if she should get married!" Lottie exclaimed.  
  
"Yes..." Sara's eyes grew soft, her expression faraway. "In a white gown with a flowing train, embroidery 'round the edges in thread of gold, white lilies in her hands... The stained glass would shine down lights on her in all colors of the rainbow..."  
  
Becky watched the two of them, entranced. Lottie, a picture of charm and vivacity, the kind of nymph-like girl that young men wanted to catch up in their arms and protect; and Sara, standing beside her in her worn-out, odd-looking and ill-fitting working clothes. She wasn't beautiful—no one, least of all Sara herself, would call her beautiful—but she had a look of far-sight, her green eyes looking straight through the dull woodwork of the kitchen to a cathedral lit by stained glass and filled with joyful people. She was no nymph; she was the Lady of the Lake, with an ancient wisdom and a youthful imagination that made her something beyond beautiful, something that her straight dark hair and small, heart-shaped face could never mar nor diminish. Becky held her breath.  
  
"Lottie!" Miss Minchin's summons broke the spell. "Lottie, where have you gone?"  
  
Lottie cast Sara a look of mischief. "Coming!" she called back. "I'm glad to see you again, Mamá," she said, giving Sara last, impetuous hug.  
  
"I'm glad to see you again too, Lottie," Sara said. "Now quick, don't bring Miss Minchin down on us!" She watched Lottie's sprightly retreat with affection. Becky leaned back over her work, relieved to see Sara smiling again.  
  
Henry stood by the parlor window, watching the carriages pull up at the seminary across the street. A furrow of disappointment and hurt deepened between his brows. Maybe he had moved too fast, he thought for the thousandth time. He shouldn't have proposed after only knowing her a couple of weeks. But he had felt a jolt of such absolute joy in her company that he knew he had fallen irrevocably in love with her. And he had thought that she felt the same, or he would never have been so forward. He must have been wrong. Her response was premeditated and unequivocal. She didn't love him. 


	7. Prince in Disguise

Told you the next chapter was on the way! I wrote all of this during dull moments at freshman orientation this weekend. Please tell me what you think—questions, suggestions, comments etc. Enjoy!  
  
The fire crackled in the hearth, welcome warmth after the London chill. Sara leaned back on the couch and put her feet up on a little tasseled footstool. In the corner, a kind old grandfather clock ticked off the seconds, unperturbed by the cold winds outside the window.  
  
A soft tread sounded on the thick carpeting, and Sara turned her head to see Henry approaching. He smiled at her, and his eyes were warmer and more comforting than any fire. He leaned on the back of the seat. Sara reached her hand up and touched his brown curls—  
  
—to wake in her cold, dismal garret, her fingers wrapped in Emily's soft doll hair. The dream was half with her still, and she heard Henry say, "Don't you love me, Sara?"  
  
"More than I can say," she murmured.  
  
"Then why won't you marry me?"  
  
She woke properly and stared about her room. The morning light struggled sadly in her skylight, turning the old, black woodwork a strangely yellowish color. Sara sat up and wrapped her thin blanket more closely about her shoulders.  
  
"I won't marry you because it would ruin your reputation," she said to Emily. The excuse seemed flimsy. "They will say I've trapped you into it," she added. Emily stared at her, almost accusingly. "Because Bonny Prince Henry should never marry the skivvy," she finished lamely, and put Emily aside.  
  
Because the students were back, Sara was able to help them in the schoolroom, which she infinitely preferred to working in the kitchen. As soon as she stepped in the schoolroom, the littler girls' eyes lit up.  
  
Her first job that day was to help the youngest class with their history lesson. She took up her usual place in the back of the room and the girls crowded around her. She spoke in a low ton e so that she wouldn't disturb Miss Minchin, who sat in the far corner drilling the older girls on their mathematics.  
  
The day's lesson was about the Crusades. Sara's voice rose and fell with the picture of medieval life she was painting in her students' minds. She told of fantastic battles, dangerous Turks and the honorable Arab known as Saladin. The girls, usually so fidgety, sat completely still, entranced by her story. One sat with her cheek on Sara's lap, another curled up like a cat beside her on the bench. It was clear to Lottie, who glanced back at Sara from her division, that the little girls adore Sara as much as she herself had.  
  
Descending to the kitchen that afternoon, Sara found Becky sitting at the table poring over a sheet of paper. Sara had helped Becky to improve her reading, but she still sometimes had trouble with some words.  
  
"Miss, what's this word here?" she asked Sara.  
  
Sara peered at the dark, masculine writing. "Adorable," she answered. "Becky, is that what I think it is?"  
  
Becky grinned. "It's a love letter from Sir Geoffrey."  
  
Sara laughed. "So he _is_ your sweetheart! I wondered."  
  
"He's a groom. He's country-bred, only been in London a few months. Works for that handsome Mr. Eshton as is always walking by the area steps."  
  
Sara dropped Carlisle's _French Revolution_.  
  
"Miss? Are you alright?"  
  
"Yes," Sara said, picking the book up. She sat down across from her friend. "Becky, do you know Mr. Eshton's given name?" Becky shook her head, puzzled. "It's Henry."  
  
"Ohhh!" Becky said, catching on. "Bonny Prince Henry."  
  
A look of understanding passed between them.  
  
The best times in the kitchen were when Cook and the other maids had left for the night. Becky and Sara would chat comfortably as they washed dishes or scrubbed the table, tidying up for the night. This even they had finished cleaning up the kitchen and were just sitting down for awhile before going up tot heir rooms. Sara had just described the arduous duties they had been required to perform as maids in the French palace, and they both lapsed into silence, imagining.  
  
A rap sounded at the kitchen door, making Sara start and look up. A man stood peering in the window at them. It was too dark to see his face, but Sara saw a brown jacket and cap and a green scarf.  
  
"That's Sir Geoffrey, that is, Miss." Becky jumped up with a smile. "I'd know that scarf anywhere." She went out the door to meet her sweetheart at the top of the area steps.  
  
Sara watched her through the window, then stared at the door in abstraction for a minute. Finally, she got up to go to her room.  
  
Becky suddenly opened the door again with a stragne look on her face. "He wants to speak to you, Miss," she said, indicating outside.  
  
"Me?" Sara asked.  
  
"Yes, Miss."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Couldn't say, Miss." The odd expression remained.  
  
Sara slipped out the kitchen door and looked up the steps. Geoffrey, in his green scarf, stood there waiting. When he reached the top of the steps he pulled back his scarf.  
  
It wasn't Geoffrey. It was Henry.  
  
"Miss Crewe, don't leave," he said quickly. "I apologize for the subterfuge, but I couldn't be certain you would speak to me if I came as myself. Will you stay and listen?"  
  
Sara swallowed hard. "Yes, Mr. Eshton. What do you have to say to me?"  
  
"I wanted to apologize. I must have seemed forward, proposing to you after only having known you a couple of weeks. I'm sorry. But when I proposed, I meant it. It is a standing offer of marriage. As for what society might deem incorrect in the two of us contracting an alliance—I don't care tuppence for that. I can understand if you feel the damage to your reputation to be in supportable. But if you _do_ care for me, please reconsider." He waited, his expression a mixture of eagerness and resignation.  
  
Sara took a deep breath, composed her thoughts, and lied through her teeth.  
  
"Mr. Eshton, I'm afraid that what you don't care about now, you would come to care about later. What's furthermore..." she steeled herself to say it. "I'm sorry, but I don't love you."  
  
Resignation won out in his face. "I am sorry to trouble you, Miss Crewe." He tipped Geoffrey's cap to her. "Good evening."  
  
Sara retreated back down the area steps and into the kitchen. The sound of the door latching behind her fell on Henry's ears like the closing of a coffin lid. He leaned back against the building and stared up at the dark London sky.  
  
She herself had said it: she didn't care for him. A gentleman, he reminded himself, would back out at this juncture. Perhaps it was Geoffrey's clothes that did it, but he didn't feel like a gentleman. He didn't feel like backing out and allowing Sara's spoken decision to stand. He fell to analyzing her rebuttal.  
  
All of it was clearly said—but part of it didn't' make sense. She could have stated it perfectly without further reference to the discrepancies in their situation, yet she had given that almost as an excuse before saying she didn't love him. Why?  
  
But then sorrow kicked in. "I'm wasting my time in fruitless conjecture," he mumbled. "She doesn't care and that's that." He turned to leave.  
  
"Mr. Eshton!" The cockney-accented stage whisper stopped him in his tracks. Becky sprang up the steps toward him, looking fierce. "Mr. Eshton, _what_ have you been saying to Sara? I agreed not to tell her you weren't Geoffrey, but I wouldn't've if I'd known you'd go and upset her like that! _Never_ have I seen her in such a state!"  
  
"What state?"  
  
"Crying her eyes out, _that's_ what state! A gentleman—"  
  
"Crying?" Henry interrupted her urgently. "Then she loves me?"  
  
"Of _course_ she loves you, dimwit! And you've gone and—"  
  
Her voice cut off when Henry grabbed her shoulders and planted a noisy kiss on each of her cheeks. She stared at him, her mouth hanging open.  
  
"God bless you, Becky!" Henry cried, laughing, and ran off in the dark.  
  
"Mercy!" Becky breathed to the empty pavement. 


	8. Tom's Little Missus

In the dank, frigid streets of London, the January wind was blowing raw. But in Tom Carrisford's sitting room, the fire crackled cozily. Henry sat reading on the sofa while his aunt, Maria Carrisford, was settled in an armchair, working on embroidery.

When Tom had returned from India more than five years before, ill and troubled, love and family had been the farthest things from his mind. Only one love dominated him, and that was his love for his lost friend, Capt. Ralph Crewe, and for Ralph's daughter, the little girl who was lost, friendless and impoverished somewhere on the Continent. Tom had searched for her for two years but found no trace of her.

During all that time he had seen no one but his doctor, his solicitor, Carmichael, and Carmichael's family. Ram Dass, his faithful Indian servant, grew very worried about his employer.

One day, when Tom was particularly low and a relapse seemed imminent, Carmichael's children visited. This was not unusual; what _was_ unusual was that they brought someone with them. Carmichael's younger sister, Maria, was visiting them, and the children had brought along to Carrisford's.

Carmichael had often joked that his sister had gotten all the beauty in the family. Curling brown hair and soft, dark eyes, full lips and clear skin: Maria was a beauty. And more than this, she was beautiful inside as well. She was a kind, loving woman with a ready laugh and a cheerful spirit, and much to the children's delight, she had Tom exchanging quips with her by the end of the visit.

They were married less than a year later.

Tom, to his great regret, never found the lost little girl. He ran out of places to look eventually, and tacitly gave up. Once every six months or so he would suddenly go into a frenzy of searching, then when he found nothing, regress into depression for a week or so. His friends found this alarming, but Ram Dass, that valiant valet, and Maria weathered his moods with patience and love, and eventually brought him out of his low times.

Carrisford contacted his younger sister, Mrs. Thomas Eshton, before his wedding. She was his only remaining family, but he hadn't been in contact with her in his entire time back from India. Now there was a reconciliation.

Henry Eshton had come to visit the Carrisfords for the holidays. Like everyone who met her, he adored Maria. The lady in question now sat at her embroidery, shooting furtive glances at her husband's nephew. The glances grew less furtive as she realized that he was taking absolutely no notice of her interest, and at last she spoke.

"That must be a fascinating page," she said blandly, seeming vastly interested in her work. Henry glanced up at her, puzzled. She continued, "I never realized that one page of a book could be so much more riveting than the rest."

"What do you mean?" Henry asked, smiling. He knew his aunt was bamming him.

"Well," she looked up, "you've been staring at that same page for a good quarter of an hour."

"Have I really?"

"Oh, yes. The entire lack of movement from your part of the room made me worry that you were in some sort of trance, and if you hadn't looked up when I spoke, I think I must have run for the doctor. Were you thinking of something?"

She bent her head over her work, but Henry knew that this was her gentle invitation to her confide in her. "Maria, do you believe in love at first sight?"

"Yes and no," Maria answered, frowning as she picked her needle carefully through the next stitch. "I think you can only believe that if you've lived it. And I did not love your uncle at first sight."

"What did you think of him?"

Maria looked up. "He was looking completely miserable, wan and thin, dark circles under his eyes. I thought how sorry I was for him. I pitied him. And pity is the death-warrant for love.

But then, after working up carefully to a joke for a good two minutes, I finally delivered the coup de grâce and waited to see his reaction. He looked at me as if he hadn't really seen me before, and the smile spread from his lips to his eyes, and then he threw back his head and laughed heartily, and I thought, a man with a laugh like that needs no one's pity. I suppose you'd have to say I was love at first laugh." Henry chuckled. "Why do you ask?"

"I met a girl," Henry admitted, "and I think—no, I _do_—love her."

"And _was_ it love at first sight?"

"No." Henry smiled. "Love at first hearing. The first time I heard her speak..." He stared into the middle distance. "She has a great beauty of soul, and it reverberates in her voice, like the mellowness reverberates in the tone that flowers from the old violin."

"You should be a poet," Maria said lightly. "If you love her so, why don't you ask her to marry you?"

"I did." He frowned. "She refused me."

"Maybe you need to give her time. Just because _you_ loved _her_ from the first..."

"No," Henry answered. "She loved me from the first as well. I knew it."

"Then why won't she marry you?"

Henry looked at her blankly. "I don't know."

* * *

AN: Thank you every much to everyone who reviewed. You have no idea what a huge lift to my spirit it is to see a review alert in my inbox! Sorry I haven't written for awhile, but I've been a bit busy—I'm at college now! Go me! lol I've discovered that I can't write in my dorm room nearly as well as I can in class—which probably isn't good for my grades, but oh well. Heh. This chapter was written in my Intro to Psych class, which starts at 8AM: my earliest class. Normally I'd say that writing in class is bad, don't do it, but in this case I think it's the only thing that made me pay attention rather than falling asleep. I like my professor and all, he's a really nice and funny guy, but his voice is awfully soft for teaching an early-morning psych class. But I digress.

A few notes on the text. First of all, the name "Maria" is pronounced "Mariah". I read a regency romance with someone named Maria and thought it was a bit odd to have this name there: it didn't sound very English. Then I watched the movie of Pride and Prejudice (very good movie, by the way) with the closed captioning on, and saw that the name being pronounced "Mariah" was spelled "Maria", which cleared up _that_ little mystery.

"Bamming" is one of those lovely little slang terms I've picked up from reading Regency romances. I'm pretty sure it means "teasing", like in, "You're pulling my leg!" Maybe it's closer to teasing as in lying to someone, in which case I've used it wrong. But it wasn't in my unabridged dictionary, so I can't be sure. If you know for sure or know a place where I can look up that kind of thing, please let me know. I had to crack open the dictionary several times in the writing of this chapter, which I take to be a very good sign. I'm expanding my vocabulary. I wish I could write this more in the style in which the original book was written, but I'm not English, nor am I Victorian. The slang in those Regency books cracks me up. One of my mom's favorite quotes is from Georgette Heyer's Frederica, when a character says, "Bustle about, Noddy, or we shan't be in time to snabble all the lobster patties!"

I've had a lot of reviewers express quite a bit of disbelief that these two people could be in love after only knowing each other about a week. This is my fault. I'm afraid I didn't make the love-at-first-sight bit clear enough. I'm not sure what I think of love-at-first-sight, thus the little discussion about it in this chapter. But suffice it to say, Henry and Sara are definitely in love with each other, and the story should be examined from that viewpoint. I guess the L.A.F.S. wasn't clear because I didn't describe it poetically at the very time it happened, but I get the feeling that when love like that hits you, you might not know consciously at first that it's happened. I'm not sure. Anyway, they say write what you know and I've never been in love, so I'm out on a limb, here. :) Okay, I am very close to being in love with Remus Lupin from HP, but he's a fictional character, so it doesn't count.

Also, about him asking her to marry him after only having known her for such a short time: as previously stated, they are in love and both have a sense that the other loves them back, though of course Henry pulled that little ruse with dressing up as good ol' Geoff b/c Sarah was trying so successfully to hide her feelings from him. Also, marriages in the Victorian era were often less "romantic" as we know the word in our culture today, and more toward the "arranged" side of things. There _were_ "love-matches", of course, but they weren't the rule. Girls were trying for an "advantageous match"—Sara's marriage to the rich Mr. Eshton would certainly quality as advantageous! If you bone up on your regency romance reading (Georgette Heyer's novels are excellent, my particular favorite is Faro's Daughter, which is a laugh-a-minute) you'll see that in high society, men often asked women to marry them after only having seen them at a few routs and balls, maybe a ride in the park, over the course of a month or two. (Particularly if the gentlemen were drunk, but that's another topic altogether. :) So it's not _too_ huge a stretch to have him already proposing to her.

What's ahead for Sara and Henry? Well, you'll see more of Lottie (and of Miss Minchin), I can assure you. There's a bit of an adventure coming up, but I'm not exactly sure yet how it will develop, so stay tuned! I'm sort of making this up as I go along. I've got some basic outlines, but the rest needs filled in.

Okay, that's all. Please review! And I love criticisms: for instance, your comments on the LAFS situation led to this clarifying chapter. Criticize all you like! I'll love you anyway! And feel free to voice suggestions as well; I had forgotten about Lottie and Ermengarde and Lavinia and the rest until someone suggested them. Review and I'll give you an invisible cookie!

And a thousand thanks to Princess Pat, who pointed out that Mr. Carrisford's name is Tom, not John! hides her face in shame They had the same vowel sound! How was I to know? :)

Your friendly neighborhood author


	9. In the Bleak Midwinter

The cold continued. People who would know said it was the longest cold spell the city had seen in fifty years, and the bitterest. Every morning the past week, Sara had had to break the ice in the basin to wash her face, and instead of avoiding it, she spent all her spare time in the kitchen, where it was warm. This mean she was sent on more errands and scolded by Miss Minchin when she wasn't back in time to teach lessons.

Sara hurried home along the evening streets. It was well past time to teach lessons, but she wanted to get back to the kitchen and warm up.

The cold had gotten to her. She was pretty sure now that she had come down with something. She shivered even in the warmth, and her face reflected in the glass-front bookcases was paler than usual.

Sara, mesmerized, watched her black, ratty boots flashing along below her. It was a minute before she realized that someone had fallen into step beside her. Without looking up, she knew who was there, and her heart leapt up and fell again.

"May I carry your baskets for you?" he asked quietly.

She would have refused, but they were terribly heavy. She nodded and he took them. "Thank you," she said, and tucked her hands (wearing his gloves) under her arms, trying to warm herself. They walked in silence to the seminary—Sara noticed that people passing on the street looked at them curiously. Some of them seemed to know Henry and nodded to him, and he nodded back, not caring about their whispers. Several times he made as if to speak to her, but stopped himself. At the seminary's area railing, they stopped. Sara continued to stare down at her feet. Henry made no move to give her the baskets. He cleared his throat.

"I should have left you be long ago," he said. "But after this, if you dismiss me, you need not worry that I will trouble you again."

Sara didn't answer. She was trying hard to hold her balance. The ground seemed to be shifting beneath her feet.

"I feel that you are not as indifferent to me as you seem," Henry continued doggedly.

"Henry—Mr. Eshton—"

"Do you care for me at all?" he asked, his voice full of pain.

Sara took hard hold of the railing as her knees trembled. The city spun wildly. She dropped her head and closed her eyes. "Please—" she gasped.

Henry took it as a dismissal. Her face was turned from him and her body language was stiff. He put her baskets down, made a formal bow, and departed.

As if in a daze, Sara picked up the baskets and carried them down into the kitchen Becky was nowhere to be seen—cleaning the grates in the rest of the house. Sara made her way up to her attic. Removing her coat, hat, boots and gloves, she fell into bed and curled up into a shivering ball beneath her thin sheet. But perversely, her fever-befuddled mind would not let her sleep.

Her own conduct toward Henry tonight amazed her. She had wanted to call him back, but she hadn't. He had known perfectly well that people were talking about them. He wasn't stupid. He knew, and he continued to walk with her, carry her baskets, stand and talk with her right in the street. He really didn't care what people thought, and he had only left because she wanted him to, not for his own reputation. Her last excuse was proven wrong—but on some level, she had known it was wrong all along.

So what was it kept her from accepting his suit? A voice in her head answered.

Pride.

Her eyes flew open. It was almost laughable. Pride? A skivvy was too _proud_ to marry a rich man? But she knew it was right. All her years slaving, her pride had never been broken. She still held her head up, still acted like a princess, never let Miss Minchin see her fear. She had almost refused a little boy's charity even though she could have used the money. Why? Pride. She could not bear to have people pity her. Least of all Henry.

She was proud, and pride had led her to fear. She feared that Henry, who had never shown her anything but respect, would pity her. IT was despicable in her. Henry loved her, and she should have trusted his love and his character. She had broken faith with the man she loved. And how she loved him! And how ashamed she was of herself. With that thought, she fell asleep.

* * *

AN: I'm sorry this is so short. But I _am_ gearing up to something! This really should be only a section of a larger chapter, but I'm still trying to figure out what exactly is going to happen next, so I figured I'd post this meanwhile. Give you something to tide you over while I figure out how I'm getting these people out of this mess. :) R and R! Invisible cookies for everyone! 


	10. Lottie O' Bedlam

Becky rapped softly on Sara's door. It was very early morning; the sun was not yet up, and if it had been, the gloomy sky and smog of the city must have drowned it in grays. Becky carried a candle-stump, which cast ominous yellow shadows on the old floorboards. "Miss?" Becky called anxiously as she had many times before. "Time to get up, Miss!" She waited. There was no answer from inside, no sound of stirring.

Becky slowly pushed the door open and walked over to Sara's bed. "Time to get up, Miss!" she repeated. The form beneath the blanket didn't move. Becky suddenly shivered. She shook Sara's shoulder. "Miss Sara?" Sara still didn't move. Fear fell like ice into Becky's stomach. She pulled back the covers and put her hand in front of Sara's mouth and nose, breathing a sigh of relief when she felt a hot breath on her hand. Becky covered her friend up again and ran to her room to fetch her own blankets to put over her. Then, taking the candle, she fled downstairs in a panic and ran to the young ladies' sleeping rooms.

Silently, she set the candle down on a table in the corridor and pushed the door open. Lottie slept near the door and Becky shook her gently. "Miss Lottie!" she whispered frantically. "Wake up!"

"What is it?" Lottie asked blearily.

"It's Miss Sara!"

Lottie's eyes flew open. The girl in the next bed stirred and rolled over. Lottie followed Becky out into the hall. "What about Sara?" she asked urgently.

Becky twisted her apron with both hands. "She's sick, Miss!" Becky's lower lip trembled. "I can't wake her up!"

"We have to get her a doctor."

"Minchin'll never allow it!" Becky said. Tears began to fall down her cheeks. "Oh, whatever'll we do, Miss?" she wailed.

"Hush," Lottie said brusquely. "Let me think." She paused. "We have to get her out of the house. Do you know if there's anyone that would take her in?"

Becky's eyes grew wide as platters. "Prince Henry!" she gasped.

"Who?"

"Mr. Eshton as lives across the street!" Becky exclaimed. "'E's in love wif Miss Sara! He's do _anything_ for her!"

"Perfect!" Lottie clapped her hands. "Go get our coats. We're going to visit Mr. Eshton."

"_Now?!_"

"Yes, now," Lottie said impatiently. "I'm getting dtressed." She left Becky gaping in the hall.

0000

In ten minutes, Becky and Lottie were slipping out the door and across the dark street. Becky pointed out the house and they climbed to the front door. Lottie boldly knocked on it. It was a long wait, Becky hopping nervously and coldly from foot to foot. Finally the door opened, and a lascar stood in the lamplight.

"I need to speak with Mr. Eshton, please," Lottie said, putting her chin up.

The lascar looked puzzled. "I'm afraid Mr. Eshton is still abed," he said apologetically.

"Please wake him," Lottie requested unceremoniously. "We wouldn't have come this early if it weren't very, very important."

"Of course." He opened the door to let them inside and ushered them into the parlor. "May I ask who's calling?"

"Becky, from the seminary," Lottie answered calmly. Becky stared at her wide-eyed. The lascar bowed himself out of the room.

"Oh, Miss Lottie, why'd you give him my name?" Becky asked fearfully.

"To get into the house past the butler, it had to look like an upper-class person were visiting. But Mr. Eshton wouldn't recognize _my _name, and maybe he wouldn't come down. He knows you."

0000

As it happened, Maria had woken up early feeling peckish. She slipped out of bed and down the stairs to the kitchen to fetch a snack, which she carried up to the breakfast room. On the way, she met Henry coming hastily down the stairs in his dressing gown.

"Well! What are you doing up?" Maria asked in surprise.

"Apparently, I have an early caller," he said, reaching past her to open the parlor door. "A _very_ early caller."

The two girls inside jumped up when the door opened, and the very pretty blonde one came forward. She check when she saw Maria. "Are you the lady of the house?" she asked.

"Yes," Maria answered, a good deal surprised.

"Will you please stay? What we have to ask concerns you."

Maria nodded and took her usual chair near the door.

"What is this all about?" Henry asked, not unkindly.

"Oh, please Sir!" Becky spoke up for the first time. "Miss Sara's awful sick. I can't get her to wake up!"

"You see, Miss Minchin—the headmistress—would never send for a doctor if she knew," Lottie interjected. "And we were wondering if..." She faltered. It had seemed the most sensible thing in the world in the corridor of the seminary, but actually standing in someone parlor asking them to shelter a friendless servant-girl seemed terribly impolite. "We wondered if you'd take her in and call a doctor for her," she finished in a rush, her face burning. She looked hopefully between Henry and Maria.

Maria turned to ask Henry if this Sara were the girl he was in love with, but one look at his face obviated the need for the question.

"Of course," she said reassuringly.

Lottie heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you Ma'am!"

"Mrs. Carrisford," Maria said, smiling.

"Lottie Legh," Lottie answered, shaking her hand.

"Well, don't just stand there, Henry, go get dressed! I take it you have an act of bravery before you!"

Henry looked at her, puzzled. He felt a little dazed by it all, and the idea of Sara ill was making _him_ feel ill with apprehension.

"You'll have to rescue your princess from the dragon of the Seminary," Maria explained patiently. "Go on!" Henry turned and practically ran from the room.

"Now, Lottie," Maria said. "Will the headmistress—this Miss Minchin—allow Henry to take Sara out of the school?"

Lottie shook her head. "She'll kick up a horrible dust."

"Well, then we will need a diversion for Henry," Maria said, getting into the spirit of things. "Do you think you can manage?"

A slow, mischievous grin spread over Lottie's face. Had her classmates seen it, they could have told Maria what it meant. It always meant the same thing:

Trouble.

"Oh, I think I can manage," she said sweetly.

Maria nodded and tugged smartly on the bell-pull. Ram Dass appeared so quickly in the doorway that if she didn't know better, she would've said he was listening at the keyhole. "Send for a doctor at once, and desire Mrs. Herrick to prepare a bedroom for a young lady." Ram Dass nodded and departed.

"Now, you'd better go set up this diversion," Maria said briskly. "Henry will go to the kitchen door in exactly—" she glanced at the clock on the mantel—"fifteen minutes." Lottie nodded, and Maria showed them out.

A ghostly light had stolen over the streets as Becky and Lottie ran for the kitchen door. Lottie felt a little bubble of excitement lodge itself in her throat.

Safely in the kitchen, she turned and took Becky's wrist. "Fifteen minutes, Becky. Be by this door to let him in, and show him up to Sara's room—you'd better take the backstairs—and try not to be seen. I'll create a diversion; get her out as quick as you can. Can you do that?" Becky nodded, her eyes wide. "Good. Now for the diversion," Lottie said, her face lighting up.

0000

Ten minutes later, the entire school was assembled in two orderly lines in the corridor outside Miss Minchin's office. When Maria had mentioned a diversion, Lottie had thought, _I'll make it Bedlam_. That had led her directly to a song that Sara had taught her and the other older girls a few years before—"Tom O' Bedlam's Song". They, in turn, had taught it to the younger girls, and every girl in the school knew at least the chorus, even the little ones. They had practiced it in secret, and Lottie doubt Miss Minchin had ever heard it. Until now.

Lottie, at the head of the lines, waved her hands for attention and counted quietly, "One, two, three!"

All together, the girls began to shout the song at the top of their lungs.

"From the hag and hungry goblin

That into rags would rend ye,

And the spirit that stands by the handsome man

In the book of moons, defend ye,

That of your five sound senses

You never be forsaken,

Nor wander form yourselves with Tom,

Abroad to beg your bacon."

Miss Minchin shot out of the office just in time to get the full effect of the young girls joining in the chorus, some of them singing, some shouting, some screaming:

"_While I do sing: Any food,_

_Any feeding, drink, or clothing?_

_Come, dame or maid, be not afraid,_

_Poor Tom will injure nothing._"

Miss Minchin found her voice. "Stop it, young ladies! Stop at once! _At once!_"

Lottie waved her hands like a conductor and led them down the corridor like the drum major at the front of a marching band. Miss Minchin followed behind, trying to clap her hands for their attention and yelling. But the students drowned her out.

"Of thirty bare years have I

Twice twenty been enragèd,

And of forty been three times fifteen

In durance soundly cagèd

On the lordly lofts of Bedlam,

With stubble soft and dainty,

Brave bracelet strong, sweet whips, ding-dong,

With wholesome hunger plenty.

_And now I sing: Any food..._"

0000

Becky stood by the area door, nervously fidgeting. There was a soft rap on the door, and she flung it open and dragged Henry inside. "Quick!" she said. "While 'Enrietta's in the dining room and cook's at the oven!" She led him up the stairs and peered around the door into the hallway. It was clear. She hurried him down the corridor to the backstairs, and they began to climb up to the attic. From somewhere in the front of the house, Henry could hear the horrible racket of twenty or so girls shouting "Tom O' Bedlam's Song" at the top of their lungs. His lips quirked.

0000

"When I short have shorn my sour-face,

And swigged my horny barrel,

In an oaken inn I pound my skin,

As a suit of gilt apparel.

The moon's my constant mistress,

And the lowly owl my morrow;

The flaming drake and the night-crow make

Me music to my sorrow..."

Miss Minchin had stopped trying to get their attention and was now following silently. Lottie led the parade into the schoolroom. The girls began to jump up ont ot he benches and the desks, scattering books and papers on the floor an drawing silly pictures on the chalkboard, singing all the while.

"The palsy plagues my pulses,

When I prig your pigs or pullen,

Your culvers take, or matchless make

Your chanticleer or sullen.

When I want provant, with Humphry

I sup, and when benighted,

I repose in Powles with waking souls

Yet never am affrighted..."

0000

"Up here, Mr. Eshton," Becky said breathlessly, leading him onto the attic landing. She opened Sara's door, and Henry went in.

It was frigid, as cold as an icebox. Henry went to the little bundle on the bed and drew back the blanket. Sara's face was pale as parchment, and when he touched her cheek with one tender finger, it was hot. But she shivered uncontrollably. Silently (his throat too tight to speak), Henry wrapped her up in the blankets and picked her up. Becky went before him down the stairs.

0000

"I know more than Apollo,

For oft when he lies sleeping,

I see the stars at bloody wars

In the wounded welkin weeping,

The moon embrace her shepherd,

And the queen of love her warrior,

While the first doth horn the star of morn,

And the next the heavenly Farrier..."

Miss Minchin had found her voice again and was trying to shout over the din. But the girls were completely out of control. They have behaved themselves so nicely for long that when they decided to get into mischief, it was no ordinary mischief! Several of the girls had joined hands around her and were skipping about in a circle, singing,

"The gipsy Snap and Pedro

Are none of Tom's comrades.

The punk I scorn, and the cutpurse sworn,

And the roaring boys' bravadoes.

The meek, the white, the gentle,

Me handle, touch, and spare not;

But those that cross Tom Rhinoceros

Do what the panther dare not!"

Miss Amelia appeared at the door, in shock. "Sister, what is going on?!" she cried.

Suddenly, the noise stopped. Miss Minchin stared, wide-eyed. The girls made a menacing circle around her and began to close in as they chanted, their voices rising in a horrible crescendo of incantation.

"With an host of furious fancies

Whereof I am commander,

With a burning spear and a horse of air

To the wilderness I wander.

By a knight of ghosts and shadows

I summoned am to tourney

Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end,

Methinks it is no journey."

Their voices rose to shouting level as they cried out the chorus as Lottie had instructed them.

"_Yet will I sing: Any food,_

_Any feeding, drink, or clothing?_

_Come, Miss Minchin, be now afraid,_

_Miss Sara injured nothing_!"

Miss Minchin broke from their circle and ran from the schoolroom in horror—only to stop stock-still in the hall facing a young man with Sara Crewe unconscious in his arms.

He only paused, then walked straight out the front door and into the street. The Misses Minchin gaped. Then Miss Minchin noticed Becky, cowering by the door. "You horrible girl!" She overcame her fear with rage. "You will leave my service at once!"

Becky swallowed hard, then a vision of Geoffrey appeared before her. She had no more call to be frightened of this woman ever again. She squared her shoulders.

"Thank the Good Lord for that, Mum," she said calmly, and left, singing, "Miss Sara injured nothing!" under her breath.

Miss Minchin stared. She seemed to be doing a lot of that this morning. Pulling herself together, she turned to look at Lottie, who stood at the head of the crowd of girls in the doorway of the schoolroom.

"I will write to all of your parents, particularly yours, Lottie," she said awfully, "and tell them of your infamy!"

"Go ahead," Lottie said calmly. "And tell them why we did it. Tell them we had to resort to subterfuge and misbehavior to save a girl's life. Tell them you took advantage of her, enslaved her, starved her, shamed her. Tell them." And with a courtly bow to her fellow students, she marched out the door to follow Becky.

Miss Minchin's face had gone as white as Sara's, and her lips were thin. "Come, Amelia," she said. "We have things to do." She turned and looked at her partner.

"No, Sister," Miss Amelia said, shaking her head emphatically. "Lottie's right. I resign." She handed Miss Minchin her keys and climbed up to her office past a wide-eyed Henrietta. Before the door shut, she heard the students break into applause.

* * *

AN: Wow, was that ever fun to write! A little note on Tom O' Bedlam's Song: I dropped one verse and changed on word in the first verse because I didn't think they'd be the sort of things well-brought-up young ladies of the Victorian era would sing. I left the linea bout the punk because I figured they wouldn't know that "punk" meant hooker. :) The rest I let stand, except of course for the change on the last chorus. Well, what do you think?  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and thank you especially to R9-regrin9 for never holding back on what she thinks :) and to Princess Pat for pointing out on ch 8 that hsi name is TOM Carrisford, not JOHN. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!  
Please review!  
11/1/04: The only thing that changed here was Amelia's exit. Sorry! 


	11. Warmth and Comfort

Maria and Henry entered the parlor to find Lottie pacing restlessly. "She's with the doctor now," Maria said reassuringly, motioning her to a chair.

But Lottie threw her arms around Maria instead. "Thank you for taking her in!" she cried.

Maria smiled and detached her guest. "Not at all, dear."

"And thank you, Mr. Eshton," Lottie added.

"Thank you for telling me she was in trouble," he replied with a warm smile. "Please, have a seat. Ram Dass is bringing us some tea."

Lottie sank back into the comfortable armchair he indicated. Ram Dass entered and poured the tea, then left unobtrusively.

As he exited the room, Mr. Carrisford entered. "Maria, what—" He noticed Lottie, who sprang up and dropped him a quick curtsy.

"Darling, this is Lottie Legh, from the seminary across the street," Maria said calmly. "Lottie, this is my husband, Mr. Carrisford."

"How do you do," he said, shaking her hand. "Please be seated. Maria, Mrs. Tierney is half-frantic and the doctor's coach is in the street. What's going on?"

"A servant girl from the seminary was very ill," Maria explained. "The headmistress would have refused her a doctor, so I said she could come here."

"Quite right," Tom said approvingly. "I take it she is a friend of yours?" he asked Lottie.

"Yes, Sir," Lottie said. "I wouldn't have presumed to ask you to take her in, but Becky said Sara was friends with Mr. Eshton."

Ram Dass opened t he parlor door to the doctor. Henry's hands tightened on the arms of his chair and Lottie's twisted together in her lap, but Maria asked steadily, "How is she, Doctor?"

"Not well, I'm afraid. Your young friend is very ill. But I believe she will make a full recovery in time. The scullery maid—Becky, I believe?—is sitting with her now. She told me of the conditions in which the tow of them have been living. It's amazing one or the other of them hasn't met her end long before now! But in warmth, with no hard labor and good food—she should be fine."

They thanked him and he left, shaking his head as he stepped up into his carriage. It was criminal the way the poor lived in this city!

000

Lottie stifled a yawn as she set aside her tea and stood up. The tumult of emotions in a day which had started far too early had left her quite in need of a nap. "I must be getting back to the seminary," she said. "Thank you again for your hospitality. You will let me know how she does?"

"Of course," Maria said, seeing her to the door. "Goodbye, Lottie."

She watched Lottie cross the street through the parlor windows. "I take it her diversion worked, then?" she asked Henry.

Henry couldn't hold back the smile. "Oh, yes," he said, chuckling. He leaned back in his chair. Mr. Carrisford had picked up a teacup and settled himself on the sofa. "She'll have to be rechristened 'Lottie O' Bedlam'!"

Tom choked a little on his tea. "What?" he asked, confused. "I think I've missed something."

"You've missed quite a lot this morning, dear," Maria said, kissing him on the cheek. "Well, Henry, don't keep us in suspense! What happened?"

At Henry's telling of the dramatic events that had unfolded that morning across the street, their laughter rang through the house. Sara shifted in her sleep and Becky leaned over her anxiously, but the clear tone of Henry's laugh rose above them all, and she could swear she saw Sara smile.

000

The first thing Sara was aware of was voices. Her befuddled brain couldn't make out what it was they were saying. She realized that one voice was Becky's and the other—it was far too kind a voice to be Miss Minchin's. Sara opened her eyes. She saw that she was in a large bed—a very warm, comfortable bed, she realized. Clean sheets, thick wooly blankets, a lively fire in the beautiful fireplace nearby. _I must be dead_, she thought. _I'm in heaven. I wonder if it looks like I described it to Lottie?_ But her eyelids were too heavy to stay open.

000

When she awoke a second time, the only sounds in the room were the crackling fire and the shifting of cloth, the tiny sound of an embroidery needle on a thimble. Sara turned her head and saw a very pretty woman sitting in a chair nearby. The lady looked up when she saw Sara's movement.

"Oh, you're awake! Thank goodness. We were very worried."

Sara blinked in confusion. "Where am I?" She was surprised at how quiet and weak her voice sounded.

"You're in our house," the woman said gently. "I am the wife of Mr. Carrisford, Mr. Eshton's uncle. We live across the street from the seminary."

Sara attempted to digest this information. Her gaze flashed around at the beautiful furnishing that graced the bedchamber. "How did I come to be here?"

Her hostess smiled. "Well, that's a bit of a long story. Suffice it to say, your friends Becky and Lottie discovered you were ill and, knowing that Mr. Eshton was a friend of yours, asked us to take you in during your convalescence. Now." She rose and set down her sewing. "You must be famished. Let me ask the cook to make you something."

She left the room, and Sara sank back into the pillows again. She sorted out what Mrs. Carrisford had said to her.

The lady in question soon reappeared with a tray of delicious food and Becky on her heels.

"'Ow d'you feel, Miss?" Becky said, running toward her.

Sara smiled. "A little tired, but well. How long have I been asleep?"

Mrs. Carrisford smiled as she surreptitiously put the tray over Sara's legs and softly left the room, leaving the two friends to talk.

Becky answered Sara's question. "Two days."

Sara started. "Good God!" she said in dismay. "No _wonder_ I'm hungry!" she picked up her fork. "Did Miss Minchin give you permission to come to me here?"

Becky shook her head. "No, Miss, I lost my position."

"Oh, Becky!" Sara dropped her fork again "What will you do?"

"Oh, it's alright." Becky blushed crimson, smiling brightly. She leaned in a whispered conspiratorially, "I'm to be married," she whispered happily. "To Sir Geoffrey."

Sara threw her arms around her friend, nearly upsetting her breakfast tray. "I'm so happy for you!" she exclaimed.

Becky giggled. "You should eat your breakfast, Miss."

000

Sara was sitting up, clean and dressed the next day when the doctor came to examine her.

"Well, my dear, you have amazing resilience," he proclaimed. "It seems you'll be quite recovered in no time." He began packing away his stethoscope. "Just be careful not to overdo it! Get plenty of rest."

Sara thanked him and he left. In a few minutes, a knock sounded on the door, and Becky went to open it. It was Henry.

Sara smiled, doing her best imitation of calm. He smiled back. "Becky, I'd like to speak with Mr. Eshton alone."

Becky nodded and effaced herself from the room. There was a funny feeling in the pit of Sara's stomach. She had thought long and hard over this. Her pride and her imagination combined were all that had kept her from falling into despair for all these years. She imagined she was a princess, and could do whatever she liked, that she must act like a princess in the hardest times, like Mari Antoinette. But it had led her past self-respect and a certain dignity into mistrust of Henry, and this was what she must repent of. She was almost afraid. One look at his eyes, though, and she was sure that no matter how difficult it was to apologize and admit her wrongdoing, he still loved her—it would be alright in the end.

Sara took a deep breath. It was time for confession.

* * *

AN: I'm not sure what I think of this chapter. Nice and long, but I don't know, somehow it didn't turn out how I planned. I'm too tired to figure out why. Do you guys know why? Because if you can figure it out, I'll be more than happy to fix it. Review and you will marry someone with the looks of Orlando Bloom and the voice of Josh Groban, who loves you more than Romeo loved Juliet!  
  
This offer not valid on Earth

11/1/04: Altered the last two paragraphs


	12. Epiphanies

A.N.: Kat—If I knew what planet that offer was good on, I WOULD IMMIGRATE! :)

Oh, it gives me a warm, giggly feeling inside to see reviews in my inbox. I got TWO while I was out for one class! It was WONDERFUL! I LOVE YOU ALL! (But not as much as Romeo loved Juliet. Sorry.)

Okay, back to the actual story... :)

Henry took the chair by Sara's bed. "How are you?" he asked.

"Getting better. Thank you for rescuing me." Sara smiled at him. "Becky told me all about it."

"It was nothing," Henry said, "Lottie was rather brilliant as Locksley."

"Locksley?"

"From _Ivanhoe_," Henry explained. "Your faithful nurse Rebecca watches over you in the tower, while Locksley and her band of merry girls attack the castle from below!"

Sara laughed. "And the Black Knight rushes in to save me! Only luckily, there was no madwoman in the attic setting the seminary on fire." Henry laughed with her. Sara's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Henry, I'm so sorry."

"What for?" he asked gently, taking her head.

"For letting my pride run away with me. I didn't want to marry you because I was afraid it would wound my pride—I didn't want your pity." She said it all in a rush, to get it over with. "But I should've known you loved me too much to pity me, and I'm sorry." She gulped. "I do love you."

Henry's eyes shone. He didn't say anything for a moment. Then he said softly, "Does this mean you'll marry me?" A teasing smile brushed his cheek.

Sara couldn't speak, but she nodded emphatically. Henry folded his arms around her and they both began to laugh again.

000

Sara's first visitor the next day was Lottie.

"I think Miss Minchin's frightened of me," she said calmly over her teacup. "She won't scold me for anything." Lottie grinned impishly. "She's too afraid I'll stage another coup."

"Did she write to your father like she threatened?"

"No; I did." Lottie set the cup down. "I told him what happened, and he wrote back that at the end of term I should come home and he would hire a tutor for me. A good number of the older girls wrote their parents about it as well. And the ones that didn't—they may very well hear of it soon anyway."

"What do you mean?" Sara asked, setting down her own cup and saucer.

Lottie looked very serious; her blue eyes were rather dark. "When Mr. Eshton carried you here—well, it was morning, but there were plenty of servants in the street at that hour. I'm afraid it's going to be all over town soon."

"Oh dear," Sara said.

The thought of gossip occupied Sara's mind even after Lottie had left. A story like that could completely ruin her reputation—and it wouldn't be too great for Henry's, either. Here she was, a female servant, carried by a gentleman into the house in which he was staying, when the owners of the house didn't even know her. Furthermore, they had often been seen walking together on the street. It would look highly ineligible. She would forever be a servant girl of low morals to London society. It was bad enough that she would have to bear this, but to ask Henry to bear it as well was terrible. Her resolution to marry him did not waver: Henry had made the choice to turn his back on rumors long ago, and she would never mistrust him again. But she couldn't help wishing it were otherwise.

She spoke briefly with Henry on that topic later that afternoon. "You know what people will say about us?" she queried.

Henry nodded. "We'll get through. For one thing, we'll say that we were betrothed before I took you from there. That will dismiss the fact that you were brought here—after all, this is my uncle's house, not my own. There can be no objection to me bringing my betrothed to visit my family."

Sara felt a little better about it after that. And anyway, she wouldn't be facing conjecture alone.

000

Sara was feeling so much better that evening that everyone retired to her room after dinner. She enjoyed chatting with her hosts and watching Maria tease Mr. Carrisford. Henry had pulled his chair up to the left side of Sara's pillow, and during a lull in the conversation, he announced, "Tom, Maria, we have something to tell you." He smiled over at Sara, who took his proffered hand. "Sara has agreed to marry me."

Maria clapped her hands together, threw back her head and laughed. Then she ran to hug the young couple. Tom shook their hands warmly, saying, "Well done! Well done indeed! Very happy for you both!"

When the exuberance had died down a little, Mr. Carrisford paused and addressed Sara. "You know, I feel a terribly neglectful host, but I don't think I've ever heard your surname, my dear. I'll have to print it when we publish the banns."

"Crewe," Sara replied immediately. "Sara Collette Crewe."

Mr. Carrisford went very still and his face visibly paled. He struggled to find his voice. "What was your father's name?" he choked out.

Sara looked at him, alarmed and bewildered. "Captain Ralph Crewe," she said.

"Good God." Tom sunk his face in his hands. "Lord, forgive my blindness!"

* * *

AN: 11/1/04 Added some stuff on the gossip  



	13. The Magic

Maria jumped up and ran to him, frightened. "Tom? What's wrong?"

Tom looked up, and his expression was bewildered. Maria knelt by his chair. "What is it, Tom?"

"The lost little girl," he said. "My best friend's daughter..."

The light dawned. Maria looked up at Sara with wonder.

Tom pulled himself together and moved his chair to sit by Sara's side. He smiled at her, a little shakily. "Your father, Sara—I take it he lost his money before he died?"

"Yes...?" Sara answered.

Mr. Carrisford took her hand in both of his. "Do you know how he lost it?"

"A friend of his convinced him to invest in a diamond mine—and then his friend lost it all. Papa should never have trusted him."

Tom dropped his head for a moment, and when he looked up his eyes were wet. "I was that friend," he said quietly. Sara stared at him, wide-eyed. Maria covered her mouth with one hand, and her eyes were as bright as her husband's. Henry looked on, almost as bewildered as Sara. "We thought that the mine was empty—but it was _full_ of diamonds! We only discovered it after your father died. And I was ill; as soon as I recovered I began to look for you... My dear, I have searched all over Europe for you for seven years. Can you ever forgive me for not looking across the street?"

Sara's mind and heart leapt at the same time. "You were my father's dearest friend," she said slowly. "Sir, you are my new uncle in more ways that one." She smiled broadly and gave him a big hug. Mr. Carrisford laughed—a happier laugh than he had laughed in many years.

000

Mr. Carrisford called Ram Dass to bring them champagne.

"You're not of age yet," Tom said as Ram Dass disappeared for the cellar. "I would like very much to become your legal guardian. What do you think?"

"Oh, yes," Sara said slowly, with a brilliant smile. She paused. "And that will stop the rumors," she said slowly. "Because what could be wrong with my guardian's nephew carrying me to my guardian's house?"

Ram Dass reappeared with the champagne; Tom popped the cork and proposed a toast. "To Sara—my darling niece!"

"It seems I'm marrying a very wealthy woman," Henry spoke up, smiling mischievously.

Sara looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" Then her eyes widened. "The diamond mine?"

"Contains the richest deposit in the whole of Africa," Mr. Carrisford finished.

Sara's eyes shone, but not with the idea of money. It was as if she really were long-lost royalty, and she had found her regal parentage and her prince and her true status all at once. Like being a princess, after all!

000

Henry stayed for a few minutes after Tom and Mari had left.

"There's something else you haven't thought of," he told Sara. "You're very rich now."

"Yes," Sara said. "I'm glad I agreed to marry you before I knew. Now you know that money really doesn't mean anything in my love for you."

Henry gave her a kiss. "I'm glad too," he said, smiling. "I know you only married me because I swept you off your feet—literally!"

"Yes, Prince Henry," Sara said demurely. Suddenly, she began to laugh. She shaded her eyes with her hand, shaking with helpless laughter.

"What?" Henry asked, puzzled.

Sara wiped her streaming eyes and managed to stop laughing long enough to say, "Oh dear. I'm imagining Miss Minchin's face when she finds out!"

TBC!!!!

* * *

AN: I've had so many people ask me if this is the end. Nope! I really do need to learn to put TBC on the bottoms of my pages, particularly when it sounds like a conclusion rather than a cliffhanger. Just to let you know, there is a bit to come yet: you'll be meeting back up with some old characters. I've still got a couple of tricks up my sleeve...

I've changed and added to chapters 11, 12 and 13, and a tiny thing in chapter 10. Most of this was in response to a long review emailed to me by the reviewer you may know as O Bloom on the review board. And yes, I picked a wife for him. And it's not me...


	14. Paying a Little Visit

Sara was able to come downstairs for breakfast the next morning. Henry was the only one there, and when she entered, he stood. "Good morning," he said pleasantly, pulling out a chair for her. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes—better than I have in a long time," Sara said as Henry pushed in her chair. "You?"

" I did too," he said, giving her a little kiss on the cheek. He went to the sideboard. "What would you like for breakfast? Eggs? Bacon?"

"Yes, please," Sara said. A lump jumped in Sara's throat. No one had treated her with such respect for so long, she was almost overwhelmed. Henry, his back to her, didn't see as a tear slid over her wavery smile. He set the plate before her and took his seat across the table. "Thank you," Sara said so low it was almost a whispered. Henry glanced up.

"What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed.

Sara shook her head. "Nothing," she managed, wiping away her tears. She squared her shoulders and smiled brilliantly at him. "Everything's wonderful."

Mr. and Mrs. Carrisford soon entered, and the usual flurry of greetings and small talk ensued. After awhile, Sara fell into a deep abstraction.

"Sara?" Maria broke hr concentration. "Your eggs are getting cold, dear."

Sara smiled. "I'm being a bit anti-social, aren't I? I'm sorry. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"What I ought to do," she said solemnly—and no one could be solemn like Sara when she wanted to. "You see, there is a reason for everything; everything happens for a purpose. Karma or the will of God—all of this happened for a reason." She had a captivated audience now. The storyteller had emerged, and no one could ignore her irresistible pull.

"Why?" Henry asked. "Why would God will such hardship and grief on you?"

"To teach me a lesson—to strengthen my character—to prepare me for my purpose. I have such wealth now, to help others. But I had to learn to care about them—to even _see _them, first. I can do great good for the poor with my fortune. And I wouldn't have even thought of it had I not been poor myself."

"What's your plan, Sara?" Mr. Carrisford asked.

"Well, I'm going to establish a home for waifs and strays—I'll call it the Ralph Crewe Home." Tom smiled, and she smiled back. "But that's not enough. The wealthy of this city need to become aware—painfully aware, as I now am—of the poor all about them. Nothing will change unless we can work together to change it. But I don't know just yet how that could be accomplished."

The other three at the table slowly shook themselves from the spell of her voice. "I'm sure we can figure it out," Henrys aid. "Meanwhile, I've been thinking as well. How much did you owe Miss Minchin?"

"Two hundred and seventy-four pounds," Sara answered immediately. "And I plan to pay it back as soon as may be."

"That may not be necessary," Henry said mysteriously.

000

Lottie was right; Miss Minchin was indeed frightened of her.

Miss Minchin was used to ruling the school with an iron hand. Her word was law, and the students knew it. But now Lottie Legh had become the heroine of her classmates. She was sort of a ringleader, and where she led, they would follow. Miss Minchin didn't dare stand in her way for fear of losing her family's patronage—she had not yet learned that Lottie would be leaving the school at the end of term. But two parents had written already, announcing their intentions to remove their daughters from her school immediately. Sara's dramatic departure had created a bit of a scandal, a scandal in which neither Sara nor Miss Minchin figured very nicely. Miss Minchin worried that if she put any rub in Lottie's way, the school would rebel again, and then she _would_ be in trouble. And Lottie seemed to have lost all fear of punishment. She knew that she was leaving the school soon, and nothing Miss Minchin could threaten to do to her could scare her into submission. Miss Minchin had lost control.

000

It was decided that the formal announcement would be inserted very soon into the Times, to stop any gossip. It would be sure to mention that Sara was under the protection of her guardian, Henry's uncle. But the day before it came out, Henry and Sara were to pay a call across the street.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Maria had asked Henry and Sara worriedly.

"Yes, Mr. Carmichael would do it alone for you; you needn't go yourselves," Tom added.

Sara had met the Carmichael family the day before, and liked them immensely—as they liked her. She enjoyed finally meeting the Large Family, as she still thought of them. The older girls were close to her own age. Unfortunately, Donald—or Guy Clarence, as she had thought of him—who had given her sixpence was now fifteen years old and was at school. "But he'll come down for the wedding," Mr. Carmichael had assured her.

Henry shook his head. "Miss Minchin must see the error of her ways. A solicitor alone just doesn't have the impact."

"Alright then," Maria said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Sara thought for an instant that she looked remarkably like Lottie. "I'd like to come along."

"We both would," Mr. Carrisford said with a grin. "Three people just don't have the impact."

So the five of them trooped across the street in their finest the next morning, when Sara knew the girls would be at their French lessons.

Sara had been outfitted in a sumptuous new wardrobe and looked quite regal in a fur-trimmed cloak and hat, while Henry was his usual dashing self with top hat, cane and gloves. The other three matched them, Maria looking queenly. Without that sparkle in her eye, Sara thought, her lovely friend would be quite intimidating.

When they had all congregated on the front step, Mr. Carmichael rapped smartly on the door. It was a minute before it was opened by a rather shocked-looking Henrietta.

"We are here to see Miss Minchin," Carmichael said officially as they filed into the front hall.

Henrietta dropped a clumsy curtsey, and tried to find her voice. "If you'll wait in here," she saidk opening the door to Miss Minchin's office, "she will be with you directly. May I take your coats?"

Three long coats and tow furs were piled in her arms, along with three hats and canes. Desperatey trying not to drop them, she tottered off to find Miss Minchin.

Maria and Sara were seated in the two chairs. With the three gentlemenin the office as well, it was a bit crowded.

Sara sat gingerly on her chair. The last time she had sat there jumped forcibly into her mind—her father had sat in the other, so many years ago. She swallowed hard and looked away, telling herself that it was terribly bad form for a soldier to cry. The thought gave her comfort, and she lifted her head. She was a princess; a princess would show no fear, even if the jeering crowds were going to chop her head off. And the jeering crowd had now been reduced to a crowd of one: Miss Minchin. A fallen enemy.

Henry laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked with a small smile. Her change in expression had not been lost on him.

"Yes," Sara said confidently. "I'm fine."

Henrietta hung up the wraps, her head spinning. One week ago, Sara had been carried fromt eh house by that young gentlemen, and the rumors had spread like wildfire. Now here she was, dressed like a princess, with a ducal-looking lady by her side and three well-to-do gentlemen, all looking very grim. And to see Miss Minchin! The tales she would have to tell to her fellow servants tomorrow! She fully intended to listen at the door.

Miss Minchin happened to be at the back of the classroom when Henrietta opened the door, looking on as Monsieur taught the class.

"Excuse me, Mum," Henrietta said with a little bob, "but there's some gentry to see you." She opened her mouth to say one was Sara, but she couldn't figure out how to say it.

Miss Minchin nodded brusquely and strode out to her office, conjuring up her Sunday smile, the one she reserved for parents and patrons. She opened the door saying, "I'm sorry to keep you waiting; I am—" Her voice died in her throat as Sara turned her face toward her. Sara, dressed in silk and fur, her green eyes as soul-drawing as the sea.

TBC

* * *

AN: Sorry, that chappie was a bit short. And I apologize profusely for not updating sooner! I was aghast when SpectralLady pointed out that I hadn't updated since OCTOBER! Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa! (hides behind the review board and tries to figure out _exactly_ what is going to happen next…)

You are not going to believe this. I did _research_ for this chapter. lol I wanted to make sure that Sara's working for seven years would actually work off her debt. So first, I needed to know when she lived. The book was written in 1905, which if the story took place in that time period, would actually put it out of the Victorian period and into the Edwardian. So I looked up servants' wages for the Edwardian period and found this excellent site: . Check it out if you want info on Edwardian life! Okay, so as a scullery maid, Sara would've made 12£ a year. If she owed Miss Minchin (as Miss Minchin says in the movie—in the book, I could only find mention of "hundreds of pounds", no definitive figures) somewhere in excess of two hundred and seventy pounds, to work it off she would've had to have made 27£ a year as a school teacher. I couldn't find a list of wages for instructresses, but since this is about the wage of the "first footman", I figured maybe it wasn't so big a stretch for the instructress of young girls. I'm not sure, and maybe my logic is faulty—after all, I have no idea about comparative wages, and women were paid less than men. But that's my line of reasoning. I admit it: I'm a complete and utter dork to do research for a fanfiction. But I did it for my Giver piece to, so… :) Also a very good resource on the lives of Victorian servants: Daily Life in a Victorian House by Laura Wilson. They really had a heck of a life!

Phoenixthemenace: "The old cow!" (chortles so hard she chokes herself) That's great!

Princess Pat: Yes, I've had a few people tell me the betrothal was too fast after all the preceding angst. The thing was, she actually decided to accept him just before she fell ill and didn't get to tell him so until she was well. I'm not really sure how I could improve on that, other than making the angst period a little shorter, and I don't want to do _that_! :)

Niteowlmj: Yes, I hate it when a fanfic writer has terrible spelling and you can't figure out what they meant to say. I'm an English major, and spelling mistakes jump out at me like Fourth of July fireworks. Unfortunately, I seem to leave a lot of typos in my own work and not notice them. Ah well. You and your husband sound like a true love story! Yes, other people have said they can't believe Becky would stand up for herself like that. I suppose I wanted to give her a moment of triumph after having been cowed and subdued for so long. But it is a bit OOC, I agree. (hangs her head in shame) I really think Miss Minchin's reaction was appropriate, though. And yes, the story kind of got out of hand and started writing itself with no apparent input from its author! College is fine, but as you can tell, it sort of gets me out of the habit of updating…

Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed! Your reviews really do make me update faster.

Coming soon: We rake Miss Minchin over the coals! Mwa ha ha ha! And the re-entrance of a couple of familiar characters. Until next time!


	15. Proverbs 25:2122

Miss Minchin's mouth opened and shut silently a few times, like a fish out of water. She finally made a half-strangled sound.

"Miss Minchin, I presume?" Mr. Carmichael stepped forward. "You _are_ Miss Minchin, the proprietress of this seminary, are you not?"

Miss Minchin finally found her voice. "Yes, yes I am." She managed a half-hearted haughty look, completely ignoring Sara. "And you are?..."

"Mr. Carmichael, Mr. Carrisford's solicitor." He indicated the gentleman in question. "We have come to settle all questions regarding Mr. Carrisford's ward, Miss Crewe."

"Your _ward_?" Miss Minchin blinked at Mr. Carrisford in consternation.

"Yes," he responded calmly. "Miss Crewe's father was my dearest friend, and I have been searchin gall over Europe for her ever since I heard of his death."

Miss Michin laughed—a short, mocking laugh. Anger and embarrassment—and fear—made her outspoken and rude. "This Miss Crewe, as you call her—do you really propose to adopt this horrid girl and take her into your house?"

"I have already taken this admirable young lady into my house," Mr. Carrisford replied.

"Well, let me tell you, Sir, that you have not undertaken an easy task. This child is both untruthful and ungrateful. Her pride is unimaginable. Once given a roof over her head and a way to pay off her debts, she showed no respect and even thought herself still a princess—carried her nose in the air and behaved like an ill-used heroine. She led the other girls into iniquity and disobedience, and was such a terrible influence on one, Lottie Legh, that she is now totally beyond control!" Maria gave an indignant squawk, but Miss Minchin overrode her. "And furthermore, I am convinced that she entered into a clandestine affair with this young man while in service to the seminary. Her conduct has been of the most disgraceful! Added to this—"

Henry cut her off. Up until now he had held his tongue, but his face had darkened as she spoke, and now his voice thrilled out, low but full of anger. Glancing up at him, Sara was reminded of Dryden saying, "Beware the fury of the patient man."

"Miss Minchin," he said in a measured tone, "I will not suffer you to speak such lies of my betrothed. His voice held such authority that Miss Minchin obeyed. "You speak of the iniquity of others when it was your cruelty that deprived Miss Crewe of any succor or help from others to such an extent that Miss Legh had to come to a complete stranger to save her very life."

"We are not here, to hear your abuses of Miss Crewe," Mr. Carmichael added, bringing the conversation back to the point. "We are here to settle the issue of her monetary debt to you, at the figure of 274£." He produced a piece of paper and unfolded it, holding it out to the bewildered headmistress. "If you'll take a look at these figures, you'll see that at the usual salaries for the positions of housemaid and instructress that she has held over the past years, her debt is now paid. If you care to dispute thse figures you can take her to court, but I will be representing her, and I assure you that not only will your suit fail, but you will open yourself ot public scrutiny of your behavior toward her while she was in your care. So consider carefully before doing such a thing."

Of course, Miss Minchin knew she couldn't haul Sara into Court. But as for being rude, she was upset that she didn't care if she offended her visitors or not. Until this point she had ignored Sara's presence, but now she looked directly at her.

"You think you've won, don't you? You've led my pupils in disobedience, caused my partner to leave, and made me no end of trouble! And now you intend to rob me of the money owed to me!—"

If there was a point to this new tirade, no one ever heard it. She might even now have gone on, even though Sara's entire contingent seemed to leap forward as one to protect her. But Sara's quiet, measured voice cut through the other sounds of the room like a hot knife through butter.

"Miss Minchin," she said calmly and with great dignity, seeming to grow taller, a queen sitting in state in that shabby office, "If you wish it, I will pay you the money my father owed you."

"Sara!" Maria said in shock, "You needn't—"

Sara held up a hand to stop her with a small smile. "I know, I needn't pay her; I owe her nothing." She turned back to Miss Minchin, who was staring at her in something akin to horror. "But I do not want her to have any reason to claim that I have robbed her. All the other things you have listed, I did not rob you of. You brought your tragedies down upon yourself by your greed. Your students' and sister's loss of respect for you is due to your own actions, not to mine.

"But even though I will pay you the money my father owed you, do not think that your ill conduct toward me will have no consequences. I am soon to enter into Society, a wealthy married woman. Do not think that I will keep silent about the unfair treatment I and your other servants have suffered under your hands. You know the power of talk; soon very few members of Society will even consider sending their girls to your school. I would consider taking up some other occupation or changing your ways quite quick."

Sara stood; Miss Minchin's audience with the princess was finished.

000

Back in Mr. Carrisford's drawing room, Sara seemed quite cheerful and animated. The gorgon had been battled with, and Sara need never fear looking in her eyes again.

"Well, Sara," Maria said, "your encounter with the Horrid Headmistress doesn't seem to have done you any harm! When I heard her abusing you—I could have given her a tongue-lashing she'd never forget!"

"That you could, my dear," Mr. Carrisford said with a laugh and a peck on her cheek. "Well, Sara," he said, turning to his ward, "are you going to follow through on your threats to publicly disgrace Miss Minchin?"

Sara's eyes sparkled. "I'm not sure that will be necessary. I think I've put the fear of God into her."

They all laughed delightedly at this pronouncement, but Sara saw that Henry's laugh was not as hearty as his uncle's, and his face soon went back to an expression of solemn contemplation.

The conversation soon went on to other subjects, and Henry seemed a bit more cheerful, but Sara decided to speak with him alone.

She had her chance after Carmichael left. Sara decided there was no point beating about the bush. So she said directly, "Henry, what's bothering you?"

He glanced up, a little surprised, but dind't speak. After a minute he said, "You didn't have to pay her, you know."

Sara knew exactly who he meant by 'her'. "No, I didn't," she replied evenly.

"Then why did you? Sara, her treatment could have _killed_ you!"

He was very angry. Nonetheless, Sara couldn't help but smile. It was wonderful to have someone who would be angry on her behalf. "I wasn't thinking about Miss Minchin when I made the decision," she admitted. "I was thinking about myself."

"How do you mean?" He came to sit beside her on the sopha.

Sara took a deep breath, thinking how best to tell him. But her natural eloquence won the way. "When I was in service at the seminary, the only thing that kept me through the long nights was the thought that I was a princess." She turned to him with a half-smile. "It may seem like a silly girl's fantasy, but it was terribly real to me. I imagined that I was a princess, the daughter of kings, and that I was there in disguise—like King Alfred, you remember?" He smiled and nodded, pulling her close to him. "Every time someone insulted me, or ordered me about, or used me cruelly, I would think, I am a princess, though you do not know it. And I will not stoop to behaving like a commoner; though you may possess my hours, you may not possess my soul. I will behave like the princess I am. And I could order your execution at any moment I want!" She stopped to think again. "You see, when I came face-to-face with Minchin, when she saw me with my crown on, so to speak, I realized what it really means to be a princess. I could have taken my revenge so easily! But I did what was honorable—I refused to stoop to her level. I could have 'ordered her execution'—but I stayed my hand. A princess is just, but she is also merciful. Henry, I listened to her voice, and I heard fear under all her insults, and I couldn't find it in my heart to punish her more. I paid her so that she could have no reason to complain, and so she knew I was having mercy on her. Actually," she said with a little laugh, "I think that hurt her pride more than anything else I could have done! And she will get her justice, Henry. I won't hold my tongue when the topic comes up in conversation. Most of London will be informed of the cruelty of Miss Minchin and those like her before the Season is out. Perhaps the money I gave her will be enough that she can close the seminary without ending up on the streets. Having seen what street-life does to people—I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

Henry leaned over and kissed her. "Sara, I know few human beings in this world who could be so gracious to their enemies. You truly are a princess."

TBC

* * *

A/N: Alright, so I only got through the confrontation with Miss Minchin this chapter. Oops! I'm not sure exactly what's coming next—I don't have the sequence down pat yet, but there's still plenty to wind up.

I know some people are gonna be mad that Miss Minchin didn't "get what she deserved", so I tried to explain why I did what I did in Sara's conversation with Henry at the end. I couldn't find it in my heart to punish Miss Minchin more than the original book did! I really did pity her. But some others will get theirs, I think… Feel free to disagree with me! Criticisms are as readily accepted as compliments! I just want to know you're still out there:)

Jaina Kenobi: Yes, in a weird way, I actually enjoy researching my fics! I enjoy it a heckuva lot more than researching my homework… :)

ellie mae and anyone else who wondered: For some reason, won't let you put web addresses in chapters. I have no idea why. But I put the link on my profile page! In case any of you don't know how to get there, you go up to where it says "Author", and click on "JennyJoy4". You can also get to my other fics from there. –hint-hint- heh.

niteowlmj: Oh gosh, college… gaaaaaah… hee hee. Actually, I have a gothic literature class that is pretty cool, but otherwise… Oh dear Bob. Lol

Copper Fizz: Yeah, it IS pretty depressing that they got paid so low, isn't it? And that book I read about Victorian life said that if female servants were caught flirting with men, they'd be fired. So not ONLY were they stuck in low-paying jobs, they couldn't even get out by being MARRIED! (Becky got off really easy, huh:) Also makes you wonder about the movie version, where the Misses Minchin know all about Cook's "gentleman friend". Hm…

Muchos besos (many kisses) to everyone who reviewed! I love you all! –sobs happily-


	16. To Them That Have

In order that no hint of impropriety might be seen in their conduct, Henry moved out of his uncle's house and back to his own bachelor residence, also in London. He visited quite frequently, and escorted his aunt and betrothed to the theatre and the opera once the London Season opened in the second week of April.

Maria was not at all backwards in any of the conventions. Sara was presented to Society at a great coming out ball, and also presented to court. Maria wasted no time in obtaining her a voucher from Willis's Rooms. The proprietor, although initially a little doubtful of a plain girl who had spent several years as a skivvy in a boarding school, awarded her a subscription without hesitation, thanks friends who had attended Sara's coming-out and had met her. She had held them and two or three other listeners enthralled at her descriptions of India, as she had seen it as a little girl, and once the two high-brow ladies had heard of the Miss Crewe's immense fortune, her success was cinched. The voucher arrived at the house, along with floods of invitations to every delight and social event of the season.

Her very first evening at Willis's, she and Maria were escorted by Mr. Carrisford and Henry. They arrived a little before eleven, the streets filled with the noises of horses, carriage and coachman, all the equipages so grand, and their own not the least of them. Sara found it an almost unimaginable luxury to don such a resplendent gown and go off for a night of pure enjoyment—in contrast to putting on a stained pinny and finishing the washing up.

Sara and her party were greeted on all sides by the members of Society. The dancing began at eleven, and Sara, not backward in any of the niceties, saved only two waltzes for Henry. She was not in the least wanting in partners, however. Many a gentleman, seeing her from across the room, was less than interested in dancing with her, but having once heard her speak, begged an introduction from one of the patronesses and asked Miss Crewe to stand up with him. Other ladies might be called "the divine Miss Bellamy" or "the nonpareil, Miss Greyson", but Miss Crewe's name soon needed no introduction whatsoever.

After a turn about the room with her most recent partner, Sara was just taking her seat by Maria again when she heard her name. "Oh, dearest Sara!" a voice said from nearby, and she looked up.

"Ermengarde!" she exclaimed, and gave her a quick hug. "How are you, best of my friends?"

"I'm quite well," Ermengarde answered her.

She was indeed. What had earlier been termed fat by her peers had now revealed itself to be only a pleasing plumpness. While not exactly pretty, Sara's friend looked quite well in a gown of light green, the color chosen to offset her complexion.

"Aunt, may I present Miss Crewe, my friend from school that I told you so much about," Ermengarde said to a middle-aged lady who had followed her over. "Sara, this is my aunt, Mrs. Keith."

They said their how-do-you-do's, and Sara introduced them both to Mr. and Mrs. Carrisford, and to Henry. Mrs. Keith and Maria struck up a conversation, and Ermengarde and Sara had a little discussion of their own.

"I saw the announcements of your engagement in the _Times_," Ermengarde said excitedly. "Do tell me the whole story!"

So Sara did, from beginning to end. Two of her admirers had listened in to some of this recitation, and were curious about her time in service at the seminary. To Sara's relief, they were not in the least scornful of her, but held Miss Minchin in revulsion. It was disgraceful that a fine lady such as herself had been treated in such a hateful manner—so they asserted in her hearing and to others. As Sara had predicted, by the time the night was out, her story was known and Miss Minchin was in disgrace. Her business from the upper classes would be drying up quite soon.

Another interesting incident occurred that night. Ermengarde leaned over to Sara and indicated the far side of the room with a nod of her head. "Do you see who is there?" she asked in a whisper.

"Who?" Sara asked furrowing her brow and searching the crowd. Her eyes lit on the figure just as Ermengarde said her name.

"Lavinia."

Lavinia indeed. There she was, Miss-Herbert-that-was. She was now a married woman, Ermengarde told her, Mrs. Roxford. Ermengarde also predicted that it would not be long before she came over, and she was right. After the next waltz, they spied her approaching them, dragging her less-than-thrilled husband along with her.

"Sara, _darling_," she said, extending her hand, "you cannot know how pleased I am to see you!"

Sara shook her hand, coldly, but could not help raising one eyebrow in a rather quelling manner. She shouldn't have been surprised, really. Lavinia held no power here; only Society held sway in the assembly rooms of Willis's. And Society was beginning to adore Sara. Lavinia could do no less.

"I was so hoping that you would join us in Society," Lavinia simpered. Her husband looked like he would have rather been anywhere else. "It is a great joy to me to encounter you here!"

Sara tilted her head to the side, like a bird, and gave Lavinia the look that Jessie referred to as, "seeing right through you." "You know, Lavinia," she said solemnly, "I actually think I prefer your honest dislike of me to this charade of amiability."

Lavinia regarded her with a stunned look for a moment, and then sort of slunk away. The gentlemen of Sara's "court" regarded this retreat with some amusement, but Sara fell quiet.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have done that," she said finally. "I don't wish to be ruining her reputation in society."

"You could hardly do that," one of her admirers assured her. "She had so very little to begin with!"

**TBC**

**AN:** Beginning to draw to a close! I actually intended this to be the final chapter, but it looks like we've got one to go.

I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update! But I got a little stuck, and I got interested in some other things, and what with one thing and another, I just haven't gotten back to this until now. Thank you for your patience!

**Jaina Kenobi**: I've also discovered that fanfiction can be that much harder to write than real fiction, simply because you have to do research to make sure you know what you're talking about! It's very obvious in some categories, like LotR or HP, but even in this I've had to do it. For instance, for this chapter, I had to find out what Lavinia's surname was. Of course, there was also the research on Almack's and the London season, as well.

**Mistress of Magic3**: lol Thank you!

**SpectralLady**: Well, I'm afraid your author alert will have been very quiet for a very long time! Sorry about that…

**CopperFizz**: (Interesting name, btw.) No, unfortunately I haven't seen 1900s House yet, but it sounds great! The website I looked at to research servants' wages was actually the website for that show. The Regency/Victorian/Edwardian periods are fascinating.

**trecebo**: Thanks again for the reminder!

Thanks also to **tabbercat**, **spikes-storm**, **Karen**, **niteowlmj**, **carla**, **MissE**, and **Alex**!

Wow, it looks like I may actually finish this story sometime this century! lol

12-10-08: Changed the name from Almack's to Willis's—the rooms were rechristened in 1871.


	17. Happily Ever After

The morning of Sara and Henry's wedding dawned bright and clear—or, as clear as a London morning could ever be. Henry's parents had come to town a week before, and had taken to Sara immediately. His sister Tabitha and her husband Matthew had also come.

The wedding was simple, but the wedding breakfast was a merry affair. Henry had of course invited the Carmichaels. The eldest son, whom Sara had once christened Claude Harold Hector, had actually been an acquaintance of his, as they had attended Oxford together. Even Donald, who had once given Sara a sixpence at Christmas, had come down from Harrow for the occasion, and could be found deep in conversation with Lottie who, no longer at the Select Seminary, was attending under the aegis of Ermengarde and her aunt. Little Rose, the baby of the Carmichael family at seven years old, was heard to say that the-little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar was dressed like a fairy princess.

"It _is_ like a fairy tale, isn't it?" Sarah said, holding Rose close to her side, her grey-green eyes sparkling. A faraway look came into them. "The princess in exile, saved from an evil witch's tower by a handsome prince—I do enjoy telling that story." She looked thoughtful. "Perhaps I should write it, so that more people who what it is like to be poor and neglected."

"You'll read it to me, won't you?" Rose begged, and Sara laughed, returning to earth.

"You could read it yourself, Rosa."

"But I like how _you _read books," Rose answered stubbornly. She should know; she begged Sara to read her one or tell her a story every time the Carmichaels visited the Carrisfords.

"Of course I'll read it to you," Sara agreed.

"But not right away," Henry interjected with a smile. "First, the prince and princess are going in their pumpkin carriage to the coast, and then across the sea on an enchanted ship, to the south of France." He and Sara exchanged a secret smile. Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael, standing beside them, pretended they hadn't noticed.

"And they lived happily ever after," Rose sighed, contented.

Everyone laughed. "I think this particular fairy princess is in for a change of occupation, though," Henry observed. "She's going to become a fairy godmother." Plans for the Ralph Crewe Home were well underway, and he and Sara would begin working in earnest on the project upon their return from the bridal trip.

Becky and Geoffrey had been married earlier that spring, and were to accompany Henry and Sara to France. They followed their master and mistress with the luggage as Sara and Henry set out in the first carriage.

"So, Mrs. Eshton," Henry said as he began unpinning Sara's traveling hat. London flowed past their carriage windows. "Are you really going to write that fairy story when you return? Won't it be hard to relive those times enough to put the words on the page?"

"No," Sara answered, setting her hat aside on the opposite seat. She turned back to meet his eyes. "If a princess had never had any trials, she wouldn't have any story. And with no story, I wouldn't have had this happy ending."

Henry pulled her to him. "You are not a princess anymore, my love," he whispered as he leaned in to her. "You are a Queen."

The End.

I'm so sorry it took me so long to finish this story! Looking back, it's certainly not the best writing I've ever done, but it was fun. I hope you enjoyed it!


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